Argentum's Story
by Zephyra
Summary: Chapter one of the saga of Spoon Boy. It's a WIP. :)


"Soon, Argen, very soon," Gram mused.  
  
"Soon what, Gram?" I asked.  
  
"Soon, they'll come for you." Gram sighed and piped icing onto a gingerbread cottage. "And you're going to have to leave."  
  
My vision went hazy. "Gram! I can't leave you!"  
  
Gram chuckled. "Of course you can, honey. And you will."  
  
"Gram, why can't you come with us?" I pleaded.  
  
Gram frowned. "Argen, I'm disappointed in you. You know I'm needed here. You know I can't come with you."  
  
"Gram, you're the only person, in the Matrix or out of it, that I love. I can't imagine life without you." I spoke quietly and earnestly. "When my parents died, you took me in. You taught me the truth. You showed me my prison."  
  
"And that all will have been in vain if you don't free yourself!" Gram shook her head and looked into my eyes. "When I took you in, you were only seven years old, but you showed such potential. I dreamed of a better life for you. That life lies outside of the Matrix, not inside it. You're not a boy anymore, Argen. You're seventeen. You're old enough to become a part of the real world."  
  
Just then, the door opened and one of Gram's helpers walked in with a tall, mysterious man trailing behind her. "Neo is here to see you."  
  
Gram nodded, and Neo sat down at the kitchen table where Gram and I already sat. "Hello, Oracle. Hello, Argen."  
  
Gram stood. "He's ready to go, Neo."  
  
Neo nodded, stood, and hooked up a complicated device to Gram's phone. Then he approached me and put a hand on my shoulder. I could hear his unspoken question.  
  
I steeled myself and stood. "Yes."  
  
Neo smiled and handed me a red pill. Gram pushed a glass of water into my hand. "I love you, sweets. Now go." A tear ran down her cheek; it was the first time I had ever seen her cry.  
  
"I love you too, Gram," I said. Then I swallowed the pill.  
  
The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was Gram's disembodied voice saying, "Know thyself." Then everything went black.  
  
  
  
When I woke up, I was in a small room wearing a gray smock and black pants and lying in bed. I stood up somewhat unsteadily and walked out of my room. When I did, I came face-to-face with Neo.  
  
"Hello, Argen," he said pleasantly.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Let me introduce you to the crew," he said. He beckoned for me to follow him as he walked around the ship.  
  
First he pointed out a woman with short black hair who was sifting through a toolbox. "That's my wife, Trinity." Next, a man in his mid twenties with spiky black hair who was staring at a screen full of odd green characters. "That's Phantasy. He watches the Matrix." Then a young girl about my age with no hair at all who was gazing out a porthole. "That's Wynter. We freed her just a week ago." Finally, he pointed out a man with odd, light brown skin and curious features. "That's Tank. He's our operator."  
  
Neo stopped at a closed door and knocked. "Come in, Neo," boomed a voice from inside. Neo opened the door and ushered me in.  
  
"Hello, Argen," the man said gently. "Here, sit down." I sat down next to him on the bed. Neo left and closed the door.  
  
"Argen, I am Morpheus. We've had our eye on you for a long time." Morpheus was a commanding figure, even sitting down. I remembered seeing him quite a few times in the playroom in Gram's apartment.  
  
"Gram says I have potential," I said uncertainly.  
  
"You certainly do." His lips curled into a smile, and I was suddenly very thankful that I was on his side. "I want you to be in charge of finding other people to free from the Matrix."  
  
I was in shock. "Are you sure? I -- I'm only seventeen."  
  
"Argen, I believe that you would be the best person for the job. You've lived with Potentials your whole life. You can do this."  
  
"All right," I said, still uncertain. If Morpheus was so sure, it must be all right. But somehow I couldn't listen to my own reason.  
  
"You'd better go have something to eat," Morpheus said. "I will speak with you later."  
  
I nodded and left.  
  
  
  
While I ate my high-protein gunk, Wynter walked in and sat down across from me. I looked up from my dinner. "You're Wynter, right?"  
  
"And you're Spoon Boy."  
  
I winced. I hadn't been called that name for years. "I used to be, yes."  
  
"Used to be? What is that supposed to mean?" Wynter sounded almost insulted, as if I had accused her of being stupid.  
  
"Do you really want to hear it? It's a really, really long story."  
  
Wynter folded her hands. "Sure, go ahead."  
  
I took a deep breath. "I was born and raised in a small town in England. When I was seven, my parents died when a drunk driver hit their car. I was at home with a babysitter when the police came. I was eating apple sauce when the doorbell rang. I knew, I absolutely *knew* that something was terribly wrong. So I just held tight onto the spoon that I had been using to eat.  
  
"The next day, the county was processing my adoption papers. I had no living relatives. Within a week, I was living in an orphanage.  
  
"A week passed. I wouldn't talk to anyone. I just clung to my apple sauce spoon. As stupid as it sounds, it seemed like it was the last witness to the lives that Death had taken from me.  
  
"Then a young woman came to the orphanage and adopted me without even meeting me first. She drove me across town to a different big building. I sat and held my spoon. She didn't try to talk to me. She took me on a plane that took hours and hours to fly. Still, there wasn't a word spoken between us. Finally, we got a taxi to a building in the middle of a huge city, like I had never seen before.  
  
"She took me up in an elevator and showed me to an older woman, then left.  
  
"'Hello, child,' the older woman said.  
  
"I didn't respond.  
  
"'What if I told you that you were special?' she asked. I was silent, but listening.  
  
"The old woman proceeded to tell me all about the prison in which I lived. I listened, but did not speak.  
  
"Day after day, she revealed different truths. She uncovered different lies. She told me about the prophecy of the One. Still I would not speak.  
  
"One day, exasperated, she said, 'It's the spoon that's weighing you down. Why? You know as well as I do that it doesn't exist. Here, I'll prove it.' At this point, she got a spoon from her drawer, and, concentrating hard, bent it with her mind.  
  
"I was amazed. Everything she had told me finally clicked. I whispered, 'There is no spoon.'  
  
"The woman smiled. 'Call me Gram, sweets.'  
  
"So I took all the spoons in her drawer and learned how to do twists, loops, and spirals. I spent my days bending spoons and straightening them out again. Only I could never bring myself to touch my spoon, the one that had belonged to my parents.  
  
"A couple of months later, a man walked into the playroom where the other kids and I spent our days. I was bending spoons as usual. He came over to me, and I explained the basic premise behind spoon bending. He almost bent one, but then it was his turn to see Gram.  
  
"When the man left, Gram came over to me. 'You just met the One,' she told me. Then she went back to her kitchen.  
  
"I couldn't believe it. I had met the One, and he had needed my help to bend a spoon! I realized at that very moment that I could be important. Gram had said that the spoon weighed me down. I knew why. I had a whole future ahead of me, and I had to let go of the past.  
  
"Gathering up my courage, I concentrated on the spoon. Slowly, it bent double. I picked up the piece of metal and marched proudly into the kitchen. 'Look, Gram!'  
  
'"So you have faced your past and won. Wonderful! Now, can you fix the vase that the One knocked over?'"  
  
I looked at Wynter. She was sitting and listening very intently. Finally, she spoke. "So you lived with the Oracle for . . . ?"  
  
"Almost ten years," I supplied.  
  
"Holy shit," she breathed. "What was it like?"  
  
"Gram treated me like a grandson, and her attendants were like aunts to me. I had my own little room to sleep in, and during the day I played with the other kids. It was fun, it really was. When I turned thirteen, Gram told me I was an adult, and that I was free to roam the Matrix as I pleased. I did, but I always came back to her apartment. I think she had someone alter records for me so I didn't have to go to school. Gram thought it was a waste of time. Basically, I went from place to place, meeting people and learning things. I had a wonderful time."  
  
"Did you know that you would be freed?"  
  
"I -- I knew I would at some point. I didn't get much notice, though. Only about three minutes worth." I laughed a little.  
  
She nodded. Then I said, "Well, what about you?"  
  
She scoffed at the question. "My life has been pretty uneventful so far. I dropped out of school at sixteen and I've been dodging the cops ever since."  
  
"Why?" I asked.  
  
"My dad took off when I was born, and my mom wandered off when I was fourteen. I learned from a guy named Dodge how to hack and crack. I also learned not to get caught. He got gunned down after he wrote a prog that altered fingerprint files in the PD's files."  
  
I was shocked at this. "How did they find him?"  
  
She laughed humorlessly at this. "His girlfriend, Stephanie. I never trusted the bitch. But Dodge was really in love with the narc. She wanted some quick cash, so she went straight to the pigs. He got charged with a dozen-odd computer crimes. He tried to escape when the police raided his apartment, but they shot him." A tear escaped her left eye. "Christ, I miss the SOB."  
  
"What did you do after he died?" I couldn't believe how difficult this girl's life had been.  
  
"First I changed Stephanie's files at the DMV so it looked like she had twenty-three unpaid parking tickets." Wynter smirked at the memory. "Then I started doing jobs for myself. Dodge had taught me enough that I was better than most of the other hackers in the city. So I did jobs for freaks and criminals. I didn't like it, but it was a living. Then a few months after Dodge died, I was contacted by Neo, who said I was living in a dream. The mere thought of escaping my hellhole of a life was like a flashlight in the night. So here I am."  
  
"How did you pick your name?" I asked.  
  
She chuckled. "I like to think that I'm cold. I like to think I don't get close to anyone. The only person I ever opened up to was Dodge, but when he died, I just swore I never would again." She looked up at me. "You're the first person I ever told this to . . . although I'm sure Morpheus and Neo and the others all know. They watch everyone before they free them. How did you pick your name?" She shot the question back.  
  
"Well . . . the kids I hung out with all called me Spoon Boy. Spoons are silverware, and the Latin name for silver is argentum. Gram was into Latin. So I'm Argen."  
  
"You really love her, don't you?" Wynter asked wonderingly.  
  
"Yes," I admitted. "But now I don't think I'll see her more than once or twice."  
  
"So we're both miserable," the girl said briskly. "That's just peachy."  
  
"I don't know . . . I like being here, in the real world. I suppose it's better than living in a dreamworld," I said. I was trying to cheer myself up, really, but Wynter's face brightened a little, too.  
  
"I guess you're right. Come on, let's go. You have to be on the lookout for people to free, right?" She grinned. "Don't slack off, now!"  
  
"What's your job?" I asked her.  
  
"Me? I write programs," she said proudly. "Training programs, mostly. Sometimes, I'll write a fun one. I wrote one that puts you on a beach all by yourself. The water's warm and the sand's hot." She sighed in delight. "I've only been to the beach once, when I was very young, but I loved it."  
  
There was a moment of silence. "I'd love to see your programs, when you're done with them," I offered.  
  
She blushed, and her pale, white face momentarily gained some color. "Okay, I'll let you know." She went to run her fingers through her hair, then slammed her hands down on the table. "Dammit! I can't get used to being bald!"  
  
I laughed and left. 


End file.
